Luncheon
by Phoenix Wand
Summary: Fluff! A quick two chapter fic for Tsuzuki x Hisoka fans out there, like myself. Hinted Watari x Tatsumi. Tsuzuki wants to take his partner out to lunch...what happens when everything blows up in his face? PostKyoto.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Luncheon

Author: Phoenix Wand, 'course.

Rating: Pg-13 There's a reason, kiddies. - (Really, just the beginning, though. Rest's just pure fluff.)

Author's Notes: Wow, when did I last write anything that I was actually intending to finish? Oh, yeah…good year, good year. Yep, been a long time, my writing skills are probably horribly rusty, so do not flame me! The pairing for this is Tsuzuki x Hisoka. Don't like yaoi? Don't care. Don't like the pairing? See previous. Not trying to come off as rude, but so many flamers. Gosh. Where do they come from? Anyway, enough rambling for a brief warning, recounting of Hisoka's rape, so there is some gore. And NCS.

Disclaimer: If I owned this, would I be writing a fan fiction? Would Hisoka and Tsuzuki still be just partners? Would Watari have not already just jumped Tatsumi (In some form or another…)? Exactly.

------

The moon had been red that night, both dark and bright, like wet blood painted over the once luminescent surface. He could feel hands, feather light in some places, heavy and too commanding in others, but still, unwelcome all the same. Still he stared up above, as though by locking his eyes on this falsely colored nightscape he might be able to escape the darkness that surrounded him, emanating from the man's soul and his uninvited caresses.

He cried out, straining his throat, and arching his back away from the man who pressed against him. Those eyes, so cold, so wild, stared down at him, wide with pleasure at the boy's pain. He looked so heavenly, with his silver hair and eyes, his countenance that of an angel, but it was certain now; this man was no angel.

One of those hands, long and thin, elegant, but so strong, pressed across his throat, leaning against the boy's airway, the demonic gleam back in his face as the boy gasped and shuddered and writhed, trying to escape. But still he bore down, not merely stifling his cries, but breaking down any resistance the boy might have had.

But those harsh movements--so painful--and commanding dementia in those angel eyes had been enough to cause the latter long before this. The only comforting thought to the boy was that it had to end soon, the pain of the man pressing into him (how could it hurt worse than when he'd first started?) It would be over soon, though that might mean that this man would kill him, as he had that woman. Had she felt like this? Hoping for death by the end?

The man slammed against him, and heavy red lines raced lithely along his thin frame, and Kami! The pain was so bad, burning in his body, and the man's hatred and darkness clouding his mind and surely this was the end--

Instantly, the boy sat up in his bed, alone, a silent scream straining to be heard, and his fingers clawing desperately at phantom hands along his neck. For several long moments, he could do no more than leaning forward to bring his head into his palms, cold and clammy, taking harsh breaths and remembering. That it had been no more than a memory, just a dream, from over five years ago now, but still, it haunted him.

How many nights had he woken up like this? Unspoken cries, or worse, the ones he did speak, jerking up in bed, some name on the tip of his tongue? But as the dream world, the memory of exactly which name would fade away as he looked around his bare sleeping quarters.

Hisoka Kurosaki, now eighteen, glanced around the room as he shakily stood, sliding his legs between the sheets with ease. One glance at the alarm clock told him that he had woken early again. His soft sigh seemed so loud against the rest of the silent room. It seemed as if, unless he had passed out, he would never sleep past six. And often, six in the morning could've been considered a few extra hours to the boy.

He padded into the bathroom, his footsteps soft against the thin carpet. As ever, when he woke in the mornings, he wasn't sure what changes he expected to see when he glanced into the glass before him, but there were never any. He looked sixteen; he would always look sixteen. Such were the ramifications of dying (or rather, being murdered) young.

The eyes that met his were large and green, could have been expressive, but so flat and cold. His hair was floppy, some mix between dark blonde and sandy brown, spilling into those eyes, and still mussed from the tossing and turning against his pillow. And, as always when Hisoka awoke and took off his sleep shirt, his thin, pale frame bore extensive, angry looking red marks, twining along his arms, and then down across his torso, and still, more, covered by his pajama pants. The mark that the mad doctor Muraki had left on him those years ago.

He washed, and left quickly. He hated mirrors, because he could always be sure what he would see. A child and one scarred and inwardly frightened by what had happened to him so long ago. He shut off the light behind him.

He didn't have time to look at that child, to see him staring back out at him. Hisoka didn't like to be late for work.

------

The Ministry of Hades was an impressive building, by anyone's standards. In the resting place of purgatory, the purpose of the building was to look after the souls of the dead, judging them for the sins and savings that had happened in their life. However, the most important part of the Ministry of Hades would be the Summons Department, where they employed eighteen Shinigami (high status agents of great power and low pay,) to both guard and retrieve the souls of the dead.

The irony of this being, of course, that as Guardians of Death, their job was more likely to bring the end of one's life, than to protect it, as the name would suggest. The job often required preternatural powers, and even more so, a tough skin.

Hisoka had always wondered others reasons for taking the job. It was not conducive to either a guiltless conscience or a full night's sleep. His own reasons were revenge and hatred for the man who had murdered and raped him, but now…he wasn't sure. He stayed for that, still, but there was something else that kept him around, the first sense of a real family he'd ever known.

He knew who had done that for him. Hisoka glanced up as he strolled the sidewalk to the main entrance. The path was lined by its usual cherry trees, always in blossom, the small pink petals drifting along on the wind in a peaceful manner. Everyday, rain or shine, day or night, they bloomed, and it seemed that there was something fake in the beauty of it.

One of the falsely angelic petals fell before him on the cement. Hisoka headed inside; this morning had become tiresome, and the facts and numbers of paperwork would be a welcome escape, at least until noon when Tsuzuki would grab him and drag him out to a little known place with an amazingly well made sweet on its menu.

"Hisoka!"

He heard his name cried brightly as he passed through the office, and turned to see a girl only a few years older than him (or so she looked) and quite smaller. Wakaba Kannuki, of course, optimist and generally friendly to everyone. "Good morning, Kannuki-san," he replied, nodding to the bright girl.

The miko's smile widened (if, in fact, that was possible,) and she waved brightly from where she sat at a desk with Hajime Terazuma, who merely grunted in his general direction and focused more intently on his cigarette. Hisoka would have liked to say that Terazuma was simply not a morning person, but he already knew the man to be constantly like this.

He passed by without responding, hearing behind him gently scolding words. ("Hajime! You could at least _try_ to be nice. I know it's early, but Hisoka will think you don't like him.") As he headed towards his desk in the back, across and only a few feet away from that of Seiichiro Tatsumi's, he knew what to expect. The same as every morning, Tatsumi was poring over papers and tapping numbers into the fax machine, working, most likely, on ways to stop Hisoka's partner's destructive habits.

Hisoka grabbed a seat, and helped himself to small set up of tea that sat before them. Bancha. Tatsumi could be such a cheapskate sometimes, it seems. As though sensing this thought, the man looked over at him and smiled absently. Hisoka understood, only too well. Get most of the paper work done before--

Precisely eight o' clock struck, and the door flew open at the end of the hell, to reveal easily the most disorganized man any might know. His glasses were crooked, and his eyes were on a handful of papers, badly crumpled and written on in several different color pens. His long blonde hair was curly, held back by an amber ribbon to match his eyes, and a small fluffy owl was fluttering around, either tightening or untying it. His lab coat looked as though it had seen better days…and several explosions, which was most likely. The mechanical engineer was not known for his practicality. Yukata Watari absently brushed the bird away with the hand not holding the papers, and was promptly screeched angrily at.

Or at least, one could assume it was angry, no one could really understand the bird except for Watari. "003," he said, as though this was a perfectly logical thing to name a miniature owl. "Stop that, it's highly distracting. I already told you, that idea won't work. Attacking me doesn't change that."

Tatsumi looked suicidal. Or homicidal…or avicidal. "Watari," he said, reaching up with one hand to straighten his glasses, as though by doing so his colleagues might suddenly be straight as well. "You couldn't have left the bird in the lab?" He looked prepared to twitch. "Or that ridiculous potion?"

Watari glanced up, watching as 003 piped shrilly. "No, I couldn't have. Well, maybe the second part, but I didn't want to, and 003 goes where she wants." He shrugged. Apparently, to the scientist, it was perfectly normal for the bird to dictate things. Ignoring the glare sent at him, more fearsome than the one sent at the tiny puffball now on his shoulder. He was the only one Tatsumi really had little effect on; he took a seat next to the boy with a grin. "Morning, bon."

"Morning, Watari-san." Hisoka's reply was somewhat brusque, knowing better than to get into the middle of an argument between the secretary and the mad scientist. It had become custom. Watari would come in, he would be…Watari-esque. Tatsumi would glare, and snap. Watari would ignore him, beg for some funds that would most likely all just go up in smoke (literally, and flame, as well,) and Tatsumi would give him a reasonable amount enough to shut the man up and send him off back to doing odd things in that lab/aviary of his.

The morning went predictably for Hisoka, which he much appreciated. It took Watari fifteen minutes to leave with his yen, after needling Tatsumi for the entire period, and actually sitting on the brown haired man's desk, something no one else would be able to do without being killed (he still wasn't entirely sure _why_ Watari was allowed to do it, simply that he was,) and waving them all off as he headed back down the hall.

And then chaos struck.

It might have been overly dramatic to say this about anyone else, but no one seemed to make quite as much noise coming in. No one seemed to destroy things as regularly, or raise their voice as loudly when shouting a good morning to the residents scientist and miko (he pointedly ignored the "Incredible afghan hound from hell.") No one seemed to make Tatsumi look more murderous when he ran in twenty three minutes later than he was supposed to (not even Watari for blowing up his lab Kami-sama only _knows _how many times.)

Asato Tsuzuki was in a league all his own, no matter what the situation. His trade marked (or, if it wasn't, it should have been, because nobody but _nobody_ could do the same things he could with those amethyst eyes,) wide eyes puppy pout softened his pretty features. His voice was pleading over explaining, for reasons that even Hisoka couldn't understand why someone would be late, to Tatsumi exactly what had happened. Tatsumi didn't seem quite as angry with Tsuzuki as he might usually have been, rather going through the motions, and all of them knew it.

Hisoka could feel it off the secretary, though he was without a doubt the best as pulling the mental shield over his emotions. He and everyone else (save quite possibly Terazuma and the Gushoshin who didn't bother to be nice to hardly anybody,) had avoided at large the subject of Kyoto, and Tsuzuki's second attempted suicide.

Even as the "yelling" and threaten of pay cuts ended, and his partner took a seat with a bright, "Morning, Hisoka!" (that the boy did not bother to return, but did not seem to faze the man,) he could feel the slight tension from the mini-argument of being consistently indolent fading away.

It was, thankfully, paperwork this morning. And while this meant having to split his attention between Tsuzuki and his work, it meant no fieldwork, which made Tsuzuki a good deal less depressed. This came at a price, however, seeing as the older Shinigami's idea of doing paperwork was playing with his pen, doodling, humming to himself, and occasionally falling asleep- only to be awoken by book (or fist) to head contact, courtesy of his partner. It was trying, to be sure, with pleadings of, "Aw, Hisoka, you're so _booorrring_." The word draw out longer than the boy would have thought humanly possible, or better yet, "Can't we just go out to lunch yet?"

No. Hisoka was not going to attempt to explain to either Tatsumi or Chief Konoe (though the former would have been scarier,) that they were leaving for lunch at ten o' clock rather than the allotted twelve because Tsuzuki had as much trouble concentrating on paper work as he ever did. He liked living- or at least existing in some form or another.

However, the time passed quickly around his partners whining, aided and abetted by yet another explosion from a far part of the building, and some shouts about something involving a violent blender with claws, wings, and teeth that Watari had seen fit to develop (presumably as a paper shredder) which had currently taken to ravishing Tatsumi's inbox. Very unhappy Shinigami watched as toiled over reports became little more than a good next in line for the lining in Watari's "aviary." It was almost needless to say, but when noon did roll around, it seemed with great relief that most members of the Summons Bureau attempted to escape a psychotic blender and the flamboyant scientist who insisted on walking around clasping his fudas, quite assured (three hours after its beginning rampage,) that the creature was in fact possessed, whereas before it had only been temperamental.

Though Tsuzuki took this in good spirits, indeed, getting side tracked by watching the once docile (and most likely inanimate,) house hold appliance dive bombing Terazuma, Hisoka had never thought he had more appreciated the free hour that was provided for them. Though undoubtedly amusing…to some, he would much prefer a restaurant and perhaps some ibuprofen.

"I just thought of a place!" Tsuzuki was literally bounding down the steps of the front walk, his smile easy as ever, once away from the dreaded task of paperwork. Which he still hadn't finished the first two pages of.

"No." Hisoka's voice was flat, looking up at his partner with severe mistrust. Tsuzuki's choices were either one of two, very quiet, good food, nice atmosphere, or barely able to cope with, food was fair save for one or two things the man liked, and Hisoka's nightmare personified into a building. There was no middle man, and if Tsuzuki was thinking of it off the top of his head, it was inevitably a bad sign. It spoke eons of the boy's patience, though, that he managed not to point that out in a scathing tone. "You pick someplace where the food's not that great, and then you ignore Tatsumi-san's budget limitations, and he gets pissed."

If Tsuzuki was bothered by the boy's tone, he didn't show it. Either that, he had become so used to it, he had learned to merely brush off the harsh words. In Tsuzuki's mind, he didn't mean them. So, he continued on as if the empath had agreed with him. "Yeah, it's in the quieter part of the city." The city, of course, referred to Kyushu, where both of them preferred to dine. "I haven't been there yet, but I thought we should try it together." He smiled at the boy.

"You couldn't try it by yourself?" Hisoka asked, and watched as before his eyes, his twenty-six (technically, ninety-seven) year old partner pouted and began crying out about how Hisoka was so mean to him, and did he really want to hurt his feelings? The boy closed his eyes, nearly feeling himself twitching. "All right," he snapped, finally, unable to take any more of his partner's immaturity. "We'll go, okay? Just knock it off. You're being an idiot."

Tsuzuki's face lit up, and even as they began to leave for Kyushu, Hisoka realized he would probably have gone from the beginning.

------

A/N: Yeah, rather pointless, still, but fluff is nice. You can pet it and it keeps you warm at night! - This fic was actually written as a gift for an awesome friend and betta, Kistuna-sama, otherwise known as the Notorious Kistune Marauder. But, you'll find out more about her in the next chapter.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Luncheon

Author; Phoenix Wand

Rating: Still PG-13, only cause of the first chapter. This one's PG.

Author's Notes: ZO-MY-FREAKIN'-GOD! This took me forever to just sit down and type up. Damn you, lack of free time and creative ideas! Okie… enough yelling from me. Here's the second and final chapter in this totally random fic. Basically, I'm just like, "Finish up…start on Tatari fic…actually plot lines in that one…" Yeah, this is purely fluff, and just to see if I can write Yami no Matsuei. The last chapter was blah, 'cause it was starting out serious, but then I got fluffy, 'cause I realize it had no real plot, so it had two completely different tones. bangs head against keyboard Bad Phoenix-chan! Cutting short the rant (too late -.-;;) here's Chapter Two.

Disclaimer; Yeah, a fifteen year old owns the rights to a manga sold in God knows how many countries. Did I mention I have a bridge to sell ya?

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He had always loved Kyushu. The town-- for it could not have been described as a city, lacking the professional, if not cold, hustle and bustle along its streets-- was a nice break from such places as Heiankyo, Tokyo. He could only be thankful that he hadn't been assigned to either of those cities. The suicide, murder, and "accidental" death tolls were through the roof. The Shinigami who worked the former of those cities rarely had time for socializing, and even with his seventy year term, Asato Tsuzuki barely knew them beyond cursory greetings.

But Kyushu…Kyushu was quiet, so long as Muraki chose not to begin his terrorizing serial murders. Such actions were not unknown for the man. Otherwise, though, there were only the few suicide deaths who had panicked and refused to move on, the rare murder. Mostly, it was paperwork. Lots of paperwork.

And while Tsuzuki hated paperwork, he hated field work, the complicated kind, much more. Today, though, had been a paperwork day, and better yet, one in which Watari had decided to "experiment" which left most of the workers around the younger man's lab an excuse to put off work, for fear of their lives. The Shinigami still wasn't sure if that was better or worse than the sex/body change potions.

This, though, was better than anything. Autumn days in Kyushu were beautiful, neither too warm nor too cold, with rich red and gold foliage coasting along the breezes. Often, rain inhabited this season, the forewarnings of winter to come, and it seemed by pure luck that the fall had been dry thus far in. Truthfully, though, this wasn't saying much, as the last waning days of summer had just past.

Unconsciously, his lips had formed a soft smile in the afternoon, and when he glanced at the smaller teen walking next to him, it slowly widened. Honestly, Tsuzuki knew this was half of the reason he was happy to be out of the office.

Hisoka Kurosaki was not like other males at his age (he looked sixteen, though, he was eighteen.) His face was young, his emerald eyes weathered and closed off. Or Tsuzuki had thought them closed at first, but he knew better now. There were the subtle shifts and times when Tsuzuki had surprised the boy completely. He would see flashes of this, or blushes and wide eyes, followed by the ever resounding, _"Idiot!"_

"Stop that."

He was also an empath. Tsuzuki sighed, resigned. He'd never been very good at hiding exactly what he was thinking, nor putting any restrictions on his emotions. He was, after all, gregarious by nature. So Hisoka would put up walls around his own powers to drown him out, but occasionally, he could still pick up the older man's thoughts. "Sorry, Hisoka."

"Idiot," the word was muttered under the boy's breath, as he stared down at his trainers tapping lightly against the cement. When he finally glanced up, his face was in the slightest form of a scowl. His expression was usually one of two, and, after a while, the man had simply accepted this. "Where is this place, anyway?"

In truth, he wasn't _exactly_ sure. In was in the area, of course, but he had figured if they kept wandering along in this general direction, they'd run into it eventually. Ah, to be so stupidly optimistic. "Not far. I think it's just down this street." Tsuzuki mentally winced as soon as he said it. _I think._ It had slipped, and being the intelligent boy he was, Hisoka would not miss it.

Suddenly, Tsuzuki really wished he was facing the homicidal blender instead of the boy in next to him. He was sure the blender, teeth and all, was safer.

"You _think_?" Eyes flashing, scowl affixed, he looked a force to be reckoned with. "Didn't you check?" His arms had crossed over his chest, and, in his dark brown bomber jacket, he did look somewhat cute. Thinking that, however, proved to be a mistake because the younger boy's eyes narrowed, and he added, "No, you didn't." Apparently, he picked that up, too.

From a street in the lower parts of Kyushu, nearer to the rural area of suburbs, there could be heard loud yelling, apologies, and what sounded like puppy whimpering. To the few people who passed, very quickly, once they saw, they had to wonder how a boy that small managed to be that fiery.

------

The restaurant had turned out to be a small place. Quaint, almost, though not quite picturesque. The name had been painted across the front windows in soft, calligraphic handwriting, and a two signs in the windows proclaimed the place to be both OPEN and NOW HIRING.

It had taken a phone book and asking for directions to find the place, both tasks over seen by a glaring Hisoka, but they had found it. In Tsuzuki's opinion, the place looked just fine. His opinions of good restaurants did not coincide with the price or rating in newspapers, but rather the quality of their baked goods. It spoke of his understanding of Hisoka, though, that he had picked a place known to make the sort of good, home cooked-style meals that he knew the other to like.

Tsuzuki held open the door for his partner, and did not receive a thank you. He had not expected one, seeing as how the boy was still annoyed with him. That was fine with him; he was not, after all, still being hit. Hisoka was small, but Tsuzuki knew only too well that meant almost nothing.

The inside was largely informal. The tables had been spread around in what at first appeared to be erratic fashion. A closer look would reveal, though, that they had all be spaced equally apart, to allow for pleasant conversation that would not be too confining within the small-ish diner. It was not a place for candle lit dinners, but for equally good food and conversation.

A girl, around the same age as Hisoka looked, though too tall, stood behind a counter not too far off. She must've been a waitress, wearing a black apron that seemed to be the only required dress code, but she was not working. The simple reason being that no one was in the restaurant at the moment. Her hair was a reddish gold, pulled back haphazardly, eyes behind her glasses olive, and she was apparently immersed in a book. Upon closer inspection, Tsuzuki was fairly sure it was one of the main stream mangas that were covetously displayed in the front windows of many local book stores.

With apparent carelessness, she raised one hand, with a quick, "Be there in one second." However, no sooner had she looked at them over the rims of her glasses, then she stood up, dropped her book, and gasped. It took barely a moment for her to shout, "Mon dieu! Kitsune-sama, venir ici! Maintenant!"

It occurred to Tsuzuki, who like Hisoka was still standing just beyond the doorway, watching this odd girl yelling (in French, he thought?) that perhaps this hadn't been the best choice of restaurants. They might still be able to leave, though, sneak out very quietly before the girl noticed and started yelling in…whatever again.

"What?" A blonde girl, some what shorter, with darkened blue grey eyes poked her head out of what could only be assumed as the kitchen. Her tone seemed to suggest that the other girl, who was looking positively nuts at this moment, was prone to these outbursts. She seemed more at ease, balanced with herself, comparing to the other girl, who was more like a parakeet on Dexatrim. However, her eyes, too, widened when she saw them, and she shouted something that sounded like squee (whatever the hell that was,) and ran off, yelling to somebody named Cin… and Ace? Apparently, just as crazy as the other one.

Didn't surprise Tsuzuki one tiny bit.

"Ils sont si mignons!" The girl seemed to take a deep breath, before reacting more calmly. She turned to the two thoroughly off-center Shinigami, and began speaking more normally again. "I'm sorry. I got a little side tracked there." She smiled, now, apparently calmer. Could people really change moods that fast? "Do you have a seating preference?"

"Uh…" This was, of course, Tsuzuki who spoke, glancing down at Hisoka to see if the teen had any opinion to add of his own. However, they didn't get the chance to add more, as the girl grabbed two menus off the table.

"Great! The view's the best over here." The table she led them to was near the front window, and she slapped the menus cheerfully down before adding, "Call either me or Kitsune when you're all set. Thanks." And she was gone, tittering, slipping into the kitchen. Rapid French was heard behind the doors not long after they had closed.

Tsuzuki looked cautiously at his partner, unsure if Hisoka would be overly annoyed by the atmosphere. While one couldn't quite blame the older Shinigami for being ignorant of the rather eccentric help of the diner, Hisoka could be annoyed by his choice. However, under the man's watchful eyes, the other merely seemed to pause a moment, strengthening the barriers around his mind. The girls were too…excitable. "Is this all right?"

The boy opened one eye. "Whether it is or not, we don't have time to go somewhere else. We'll just eat quickly and leave." Without another word for the subject, he reached for his menu, and began scanning the contents.

A smile was suppressed at that; whatever the boy might say to the contrary, Tsuzuki had a good feeling he was accepting this place because the older Shinigami had expressed an interest in it. "Thanks."

The mumbled reply was wordless, and Hisoka did not bother to meet his partner's eyes. In a few minutes, though, they'd both picked out their meals, and when Tsuzuki called, it was hardly a moment before the blonde girl had appeared through the door.

"Yeah?" While the girl didn't appear to have the same annoying perchance for small talk as did her friend, she showed no less interest in the two Shinigami. She scrawled down their order, in some neon purple pen, and assured them it would only be "a few minutes," before heading back to the kitchen. For once, there seemed to be no outburst of French when she entered.

The rest of the meal passed without incident, simply the odd, comfortable conversation that passed between the pair, and, more often, the comfortable silences. The young empath had never been particularly talkative, so when they reached dessert (for Tsuzuki, Hisoka had simply taken a warm Kocha,) the restaurant had fallen into a comfortable quiet.

It surprised him, then, when Hisoka looked up from where his hands wrapped around the tea cup. "How is it?" His eyes were not quite flat, not as closed off as always, but far from the bright Tsuzuki had rarely seen them.

For a moment, the older man was confused. He highly doubted that Hisoka would care how exactly the apple pie tasted (though, all things admitted, it wasn't bad.) His brow furrowed, lips forming a soft frown, where a few crumbs still clung stubbornly to his mouth. However, whatever else might have been said about Tsuzuki, the man was not stupid. If he was not referring to the pie, then he was asking about the incident that had happened only a few weeks ago. Subtle, vague questions would be the closest Hisoka could ever put himself to asking if the older man was doing better. "Good. Thanks for your concern, Hisoka." He smiled, brightly, which only earned him rolled eyes and the lightest bit of pink across his fair cheeks.

Of course it would be hard for him. To have admitted something that made himself so vulnerable was unsettling for the boy who distanced himself from other out of self-defense. _"I decided a long time ago that I belong right here…by your side."_ Still, Tsuzuki had appreciated it more than anything, but Hisoka had not mentioned it since. He knew better than to think the boy, speaking in the desperation of the moment, had forgotten exactly what he'd said. He remembered. It had meant too much for him not to have, and the boy did not use words lightly, speaking when and if he wanted to, and saying whatever was on his mind.

They stood when they finished, and a glance at his watch told Tsuzuki they had made time well enough. While they would not be early to arrive back at the Ministry, they would avoid his usual excessive lateness. The latter rarely happened when he went to lunch with Hisoka, though as they did not always dine together, he was still known for his "slacker" attitude.

Back at the counter, it seemed the smaller of the girls had completely taken over the shift, as the red haired girl was no where to be seen. When they approached, she looked up from a sketch pad, where tiny doodles lined across corners in brightly colored chaos. "All finished?" She tapped a few buttons into the register experimentally, and added, "That's 3,200.00¥, please."

Another advantage of eating out in pairs, the allotted 3,000¥ a day turned into 6,000¥, giving them a little more elbow room where dining was concerned. Also, Tatsumi rarely enforced the rule of yen limits with anyone who wasn't Tsuzuki, so Hisoka would tend to earn a bit more. The older man began to pay, but Hisoka shook his head.

Occasionally, the younger boy would pay, largely out of his hatred to be treated as a child or anything less than an equal. "I'll get it this time." There was hardly any stress on the last two words, but it fell into their tradition of switching off tabs every so often or splitting. Hisoka left 650¥ as a tip, and they headed out, Tsuzuki with a smile, thanks, and a wave. One which his partner did not bother to second, instead just zipping up his jacket the tiniest bit as they passed through.

"Come again," the blonde called after them, though whether they heard or not was anyone's guess. She sighed, glancing over her shoulder and heading into the kitchen where her friend sat, perched lackadaisically on a few of the stacked delivery crates. "They just left." She tilted her head towards the door, signifying who.

"Nice tip?" Her eyes were curious over the rim of her glasses. Taking in the mild shrug to mean somewhere in between (at least they hadn't been stiffed, which was common enough in this line of work,) she felt a small smile grow across her face. "They were cute, weren't they?"

Kitsune chuckled. "Yes!" Quickly, she added, "Though, I have to say, they were clueless. I mean, Phoenix-chan--" this was undoubtedly the other's name-- "I could even see it between them."

"Yeah, but I bet you that they get it eventually." The red haired girl slid off the crates, and stretched. "We won't know, though. Ten to one, we scared 'em bad enough, they're not coming back."

------

"Next time, I pick the place," Hisoka reprimanded, sternly as they walked along the pavement towards the alley. It was not a good idea to travel back to the Ministry in the open. One person saw you, and things got really complicated, really quickly. "The staff there…." He trailed off, unable to even think of a word to describe how odd the girls were. And this coming from an empathic Shinigami.

Tsuzuki pouted a moment, but sighed. "Okay, fine." The gentle scuffing of their feet against the pavement was the only sound. Nonetheless, the smile was soon on his face again, and he added, "But then we're going to dinner tonight, and you're not getting out of it." He winked, cheerfully, hoping to be rewarded by a light color of the boy's face (he wasn't disappointed.)

"…You're paying." They had reached the alley, and without another word, Hisoka disappeared, back to the world parallel, yet invisible, to the one he now stood in. It hadn't quite been the warm acceptance he would've liked, but it was the general agreement he had expected. Tsuzuki knew now the place Hisoka picked would probably be expensive, and since this wasn't on working hours, he'd be paying for it out of pocket.

The man followed his partner, and only a few moments after getting his bearings, he replied with, "Aw, 'Soka-chan, couldn't you sound a little more excited?" Half a moment later, nearly all of the Summons Department could hear "Don't call me that! You idiot!" They continued, with raised voices and pleading apologies and cajoling as they headed into the office once more.

Yes, Tsuzuki was probably going to spend a good part of his paycheck for wherever it was Hisoka chose to eat, and despite the boy's anger towards him at the moment, and abusiveness in general, he looked forward to it. After all, for Hisoka, a trip out on him was the least he could do, and he only wished the boy would've accepted more. Now, however, wasn't the best time to suggest more time together outside the work area.

Maybe later.

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A/N: Owari! Sorry for those of you hoping for a kiss, I just never could write those fics where out of no where the love interests start kissing. Really, I think this is cuter anyway. It's abusive! And, yes, you have read a description on what yours truly, Phoenix-chan, and my best friend look like. We're a couple of weirdoes, though it did work to cheer Kistune up! Comment, please, or you'll break my little authoress heart, and I won't write any fics (actual ones, not just the fluffy one/two-shots.)

Ever yours,  
Phoenix


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